Last weekend I ate my words and finished a race I had said repeatedly I would never run (and I still haven’t run it-ha!). Though our family in Corning, NY had asked us to combine a visit and a race, we had told them no several times. First, I hate the name. I could spend hours telling you about how much I hate alcohol for all it has done to people I love(d), but I won’t. So running the Wineglass Half, even though there was no real connection between the name and the race, wasn’t high on my list– even though I had heard such amazing things about the course (fast and net downhill), the setting (hi Upstate New York in peak leaf season) and the medal (pretty pretty Corning glass). Secondly, as a Sunday race it was off the boards for us because we have been pretty staunch about not doing races that interfere with worship. But way back in February, when my friend Miriam in nearby Elmira had mentioned that the congregation with which she worships doesn’t meet on Sundays until 3:30, it suddenly made the half—even the full– completely doable.

The leaves didn’t get the memo that we came to see them, but it’s still a beautiful course.

So we signed up and planned a family vacation around the race. We got excited. We trained. And then some pesky vertebrae in my back decided to clamp down on a nerve in my neck and lay me out for the 8 weeks prior to the race. There’s no problem with my legs, but the tightening muscles in my back and the tingling in my arm are being “stubborn,” as one provider has put it. More on that in a different post, but after weeks of resting, intensive chiropractic care, Graston and Active Release therapies, it was clear I could not run, I could not run-walk, I could not power walk this race. I left for the trip with a somewhat heavy heart, not knowing if I’d end up with a medal or not, or if I should even try.

But I did know this: it was a great race for a slow finish. The marathon starts 13.1 miles west of the half-marathon course, and a half-hour later, meaning that if I could just stay ahead of the slowest marathoners, I wouldn’t get swept off the course or DNF’d. I knew from an experimental walk that power walking would make the muscles in my upper back angry, and I didn’t want to walk 13.1 at the cost of not being able to run for an even longer period of time. However, I knew from just living life, that I could be mobile and not disturb things. I have strolled with my kids, I have done what needs doing around my house and community without making things worse. So, I wondered, what could be the harm in trying to stroll this race? My husband’s brother and sister-in-law both assured me that they would come get me if I couldn’t make it. So if I could knuckle down mentally and prepare my mind to walk for 4.5 hours (I was toying with 20-minute miles), could I see the course, experience the race, and finish? Could there be any harm in trying? I mean, there are worse ways to spend a morning than walking for multiple hours. At the very least, my husband would have company on the bus to Campbell-Savona High (pro tip: It’s pronounced Camp-Bell and they are very serious about that) and at the start.

Bundled up by the side of a cornfield. He went on to PR, even though he was sorta sick with a cold.

And so I bundled up for the 37-degree start in literally every piece of warm workout-ish clothing I’d brought. Four shirts, two pairs of pants, a beanie, and some borrowed gloves. We got to the high school where they allowed us in to stay warm before the start. This was not communicated well, but it’s important to know: due to the location of the school to the start line, in order to get everyone behind the timing mats, you need to be out there 15 minutes before the start. We didn’t understand that until we were out there, but if you ever do Wineglass, don’t try to stay inside until 5 minutes before the race, or you’ll be hosed.

I hovered on the side of the cornfield near the start and waited to begin with the last runners. The race started and I watched the fasties go by. Then the not-as-fasties. Then the run-walkers. Then the walkers and I crossed the mats. I was a little concerned over the fact that we were in the middle of nowhere and my phone was losing battery fast. No podcasts for me, as I had planned. This could be a long few hours. And that’s when I spotted a woman whose hat had caught my eye earlier. Way up here, in the Finger Lakes region of New York, she was wearing an Atlanta Track Club member cap. I commented on it, and we got to talking.

And that was the game changer for this experience for me. Her name is Camille, and as we got passed by every other half-marathoner and all but the slowest marathoners behind them, we both found support for the nearly five hours we were together. She has an incredible story—she and her cousin are pursuing half-marathon finishes in all 50 states (this was state 11). Michelle runs, Camille walks. But just eight weeks prior to Wineglass, Camille was in the hospital with massive blood clots in both lungs. Though she had her doctors’ clearance to walk the race, she was rightfully nervous and taking it way slower than usual. Just like me. She is from Kentucky but has lived in Atlanta. Just like me. And she had made a goal and wanted to try and see it through, even though it was going to be such a different and potentially defeating experience. Just like me.

So for four hours and 52 minutes (I think? I heard Bart Yasso announce my name at the finish so my chip fired, but my official results aren’t on the website, and I haven’t emailed the race yet because really, what does it matter?), we became just who the other one needed us to be. I was there in case she had any medical issues. She was there to help keep me from pushing and trying to prove something that didn’t need proven that day. We talked about Kentucky, Atlanta, being at the back of the pack, the cows by the side of the road, the horses by the side of the road, the sweepers coming through to pick up the discarded clothes, and the marathoners as they came up by us (so many of them were so encouraging, and as Camille sweetly pointed out, it takes a lot of character to encourage a walker when you yourself are at mile 20 of a marathon). The weather warmed, the landscape changed, and we slowly, slowly got closer to Corning. Her cousin Michelle, long finished, showered, and chipper, came to meet Camille at mile 11.5 and gave us a full finish line report. We rounded the corner on to Market Street and I had to put down the shame that comes so naturally when I am slower than I want to be—the people there don’t know my story, or Camille’s. They don’t know and they frankly don’t care, so why should I? As StoryBrand’s J.J. Peterson says, “WWNSTPA:” We will never see these people again.

Speaking of possibly never seeing someone again, Camille and I finished together and quickly got separated as my family hovered happily nearby and as Michelle waited to wisk her away to a much deserved day of belated-birthday celebrating. But though our paths may never cross again, she leaned thoughtfully over to me before that and said, “I believe God puts in your path the people that you need. Thank you.” And she is exactly right. The support that we need, the people that we need are there, if we only seek them out and accept what they have to offer us. I know with certainty that I could have finished that race on my own, but at what price? I would have spent nearly five hours entirely in my head, going to the dark places: convincing myself that every twinge was another setback, that I would never run again, and that this was my sad last hurrah, somewhere by a cow field in New York. Instead I got to enjoy lovely company and a five-hour stroll through one of the most scenic areas I’ve run in.

“Two are better than one, for they have a greater reward for their labor.” (Ecc. 4:9)

Take your support, friends. Even when it comes in the most unlikely of places, be open to it. You are not alone, and when you have a companion, it makes an arduous journey so much less frightening, and even enjoyable. God designed us for the ultimate relationship with Him, but give us supportive relationships and friendships along the way, and we need to embrace how much more we can do when we don’t go this life alone. Thank you, Camille, for keeping me from the dark places of my head during this race. May God bless your health and may you make your 50-state goal!

DLF > DNF > DNS. So glad I gave this one a go.

(Side note on the race itself: though I hate the name and wish it was run on a Saturday, every reason that it makes a list of great races is true. It was gorgeous even without any noticeable leaf change yet this year. It’s well-organized and has great support. You’ll read race recaps that disdainfully mention that it runs next to an interstate in some parts. That’s true, but the cars honk cheerfully at the runners, and you know what’s surrounding the interstate? Some really, really gorgeous scenery. Be aware of the fact that you need to get out to the start line early, even if you are a back-of-the-packer, and you’ll be just fine.)

We Watermelons piled into Van 2 and headed out of Seattle around noon. We didn’t anticipate starting running until about 6 p.m., and as Runner 11, I likely wouldn’t be on the course until 9. Cue a very leisurely ride to Sandy, OR. Let’s use this time to introduce you to my van-mates.

View from the van on the drive to Oregon.

Runner 7 was the little powerhouse Meghan B. She is from Jersey, she is young (23!), she is confident. Speed honed in youth aside, If her constant smile and can-do attitude is what running competitively in high school and college does for you, then I really hope my daughters continue to run.

Runner 8 was Megan H., also a young’un, also a speedy East-coaster, she writes for Runner’s World and loves the sport. She puts together a lot of the motivational quotes for the RW site, and for good reason–she was very encouraging along the way.

Playing the unfortunate role of Runner 9 was Laura T., a Nuun employee from here in the Atlanta area. She is a rock–a solid runner who attacked all three of her difficult legs and never uttered a word of complaint. She is also so kind and thoughtful–great qualities in a van-mate.

Handing off to me was Runner 10, Lisa M. She is very transparent online so I knew from our Twitter conversations and her blog that she is a genuine, caring person. She also has some knowledge of chronic pain and of injury so for me, she was particularly good to have around as I struggled through the mental and physical strain of doing this race injured.

Runner 11: Yours truly

Our anchor was Devon M., who is just an all-around awesome lady. She is collected and even, and has her head on straight. She is a solid runner, and completely drama-free. Not to mention adorable. I’d like to have a Devon dolly to keep in my pocket just to cheer me up sometimes. 🙂

And let us not forget the fearless Warrior Behind the Wheel: Casey. Nuun CFO and devoted Huskies fan. He drove that 15-passenger van like it was a Miata, and only took out two curbs that we know of.

All the sparkle, none of the drama!

Can I just say how nice it is to have a drama-free van? I’ve been fortunate to have very little van-drama in most of the relays I’ve done, and frankly, I don’t know why anyone would want to create drama. The race hands you enough true, drama–save your energy for that.

About the worst thing that happened along the way was our first trip to Safeway, in which we were denied on our quest to invite Stacy into our van. It’s a relay essential, y’all, and we very nearly did not get them. Luckily all was righted at our next stop and we were pretty much Powered by Stacy for the rest of the relay.

All the Stacy’s

The Nuun bar. All the electrolytes you could desire.

So, here’s the part that tells you how yes, I have a little bit of the sad over being in Van 2. See, Van 2 does not get to go up Mt. Hood. Hence, like half of all Hood-to-Coast-ers, I have no awesome jumping-with-the-mountain-behind-me pics. I get why that is, with traffic going up and down a big ole mountain but if you’ll allow me a moment… *Whine.*

Okay, all done.

We made it to Exchange 6, which was in the parking lot of a Safeway in Sandy. We all got waaaaaay too excited about seeing the Dead Jocks van as we were pulling in. Also, we were cutting it pretty close so we got Meghan all safety-geared up and sent her out on the course to take the slap bracelet baton from Catey.

Look closely and you can see the Dead Jocks van!

Afterward, we gathered everyone who was still there from the Nuun teams together for a picture. Team Lemonade had arrived, all of Watermelon, minus Meghan, was there, and even parts of Nuun’s competitive Team Cherry Limeade were still on site. What I did not realize was that the person who was gathering us for the picture had nothing to do with the teams… except that he is a race director wants a certain member of Team Lemonade to help him promote his race in Oregon. And so, after he’d taken the picture he loudly exulted “Yeah! It’s HOLLY ROBERTS TEAM!!!” and got on the phone to… tell someone he’d been successful in finding her? Who knows, but it was funny. Holly told us what was going on and we giggled and giggled. Since she was so mortified, and since I am just that mean, I pretty much took immediately decided that the #teamhollyroberts needed to became a thing. And so a joke was born. Holly, it was an honor to be on Team Holly Roberts. May it happen again. 🙂

Team Holly Roberts.

Soon after we needed to get on the road to make the next exchange. The two Meg(h)ans are speedy and were on fresh legs. The slap bracelet went from Meghan to Megan to Laura to Lisa and soon I was up. We were pushing it coming into Exchange 10. Dark was coming on, and we stumbled to the exchange not long before Lisa came in.

Lit up for my night run. How cute is the pink Amphipod flower and vest?!?

I was nervous going into this run. Like, nervous to the point that I’d had to really work hard to enjoy the trip up to this point. I will tell you that getting on the plane to Seattle was pretty much one of the most selfish things I’ve ever done. I flat didn’t know if I’d be able to run. I said that know matter what I’d finish the legs–I was not going to let anyone run for me as I’d had to do during Ragnar Chicago. But I didn’t know what price that would come at: Either what I might injure or re-injure, or how much time I’d cost the team. I’d been in a lot of pain during and after Thursday’s Green Lake run. My IT Band is pretty much well, but other parts of my body have been doing a lot of compensating. But my left glute and hamstring were so tight and they were hurting a lot. The top of my right hip has also been acting up, in the form of sharp pain. This is an injury that I’d struggled with in 2012, but which had disappeared after I switched shoes last fall, had suddenly returned about a week before. That said, I do not advocate using a ton of NSAID’s, especially during running. But for this, I took Advil prior to the run, and it got me through. Kisses for you, Advil.

Leg 11 takes you on a paved trail through parts of Portland; mostly industrial. I’m not a huge fan of paved walking trails, as they tend to attract backpack-carrying Hoodie wearers, which is all well and good but who tend to look creepy after dark. Sorry, backpack-carrying hoodie wearers of the world. But there also were several cyclists out there and a lot of runners so it wasn’t too creepy, even though the area was so very industrial. Looking at the satellite of it now, I’m a) glad I didn’t look at the satellite imagery of the area earlier and b) glad I was running it at night or else I’d have been bored looking at the warehouses. The path was traffic-free except where it crossed streets (and the volunteers were pushing the light-change buttons for us) and great to run on, save one thing: The path went by some sort of Food Truck Extravaganza. And yes, it was 9 p.m. and we hadn’t yet eaten dinner. No, I did not stop. Yes, I wanted to.

This run was the best of the three for me, and that ain’t saying much. Everything hurt but I was so, so happy to be out there, and running, and numbed enough by Advil that I could ignore the pain. I came into the exchange happy to be there, happy to be done, and happy to be sending Devon off to finish up our first legs.

Up next in my Leg Two Recap: Don’t Be Cruel, and A Seat at the Table for my Foam Roller.

Before we can get to the actual Running of the Nuunies, we must get to the getting there–that is half the fun, right? My parents in Illinois were to act as child care while I was in the PNW, so the kids and I went to the Midwest a week beforehand to make a vacay of it. On Wednesday before the race, my ever-loving father took me to O’Hare to catch my flight to Seattle.

I had packed…and repacked… and re-repacked, and even re-re-re-packed before I left. I wanted to carry on my bags, and they were stuffed, but I got everything on. Then the flight was delayed, but the folks next to me were already conked out. These people took their sleep VERY seriously. I finally nudged them and went to the bathroom to… stretch? Sure, why not. You can get a really good glute stretch going on in the plane. Just FYI.

Ready to fly: Team Watermelon nails, coffee, wings. Let’s do this.

See? Glute stretch in the bathroom.

I don’t think we’re in Georgia anymore, Toto.

Flight was uneventful, except for… MOUNTAINS!!! I haven’t been to the Northwest ever, so it was incredible to see the mountains from the air. Almost worth having to poke The Sleepers every time I needed to stretch my glutes go to the bathroom.

Upon arrival, Sarah,Meghan, Mallory, Kristen, Karen had all arrived and were nestled near baggage claim, and the awesome Megan was arriving in the Big White Van to take us to Nuun HQ. We got in and were whisked to the Mother Ship, where we met Jolene, Catey and Leslie. Megan told us we had 3 hours to explore Seattle and I immediately rattled off my list of Things I Had to Do. Luckily no one ran screaming from the Highstrung Type A girl, and we headed to Pike Place. Once there, Jolene and I split off from the group to head toward Seattle Center. First we had to stop at the original Starbucks.

Oh wait, that’s not the first Starbucks you say? That’s the Starbucks at First and Pike, you say? Yeah, yeah, yeah, we figured that out later. I’m sure they had a full-on “Code Tourist” snicker about it. Sigh. Visiting Seattle Tip #1: If you ever want to go, I recommend you Google “Original Starbucks Seattle” NOT “First Starbucks Seattle.” Ahem. That problem will be resolved later in our story.

Here’s Westlake Center, where my fictional boyfriend Lloyd Dobler had his ‘controversial first date’ with Diane Court (at least, this was the mall pictured in the movie when Lloyd drove by in the rain). It’s also where we caught the monorail to Seattle Center, home of the Space Needle, the Experience Music Project (EMP), and the Chihuly Garden. Jolene was on a mission to see Buffy’s Mr. Pointy Stake, and I can’t resist a Nirvana exhibit, so EMP won our time first. We made a beeline for Mr. Pointy, then broke the Scream Booth (sorry EMP), then weaved through the Nirvana exhibit. In and out in far too little time; if you are a pop culture fan, it’s definitely worth a lot more than what we gave it.We souvenir shopped at the Space Needle but were running short on time so decided to see the Chihuly Garden instead. I’ve been a fan since he did an installation at the Atlanta Botanical Gardens years ago, and I’ve seen another piece of his in Milwaukee, but this place has just so many pieces of his incredible glass. It was amazing. I find his work to be both breathtaking and accessible, and am awed by the skill it takes to produce it. So pretty.

Jolene and I were having a ball, but running late-ish so we cabbed it back to Nuun and then got to partake in an apparent HQ ritual: A bell is run and it is declared Plank Time! Forearm plank, side plank, other side plank, big plank. Boom and done. If I could just point out that they do this several times a day, and that they don’t make it a competition. It’s just Team Building through Fitness. I really, really, like this company, y’all.

Plank it out.

We were quickly spirited away to The Garage, for some Bowling and food. I was getting pretty tired at this point, and meeting lots and lots of people. I settled in to prove that I am the Master of Being Last at Bowling, and bowled an impressively low 38. No, you may not have my autograph.

Bowling. Talking.

More bowling. More talking. Probably some social media stuff happening there, too.

The next morning I was up for coffee and stretching before we invaded Oiselle headquarters. I was beyond stoked to go to The Nest and see where they all their birdie magic happens. But there was to be a run, and this little bird had butterflies in her tummy. I had said several times I wouldn’t take part in the Green Lake run, but c’mon, it’s GREEN LAKE. They name hoodies after this place! So off we went. My hurts started hurting immediately and I was slow and achy. Seriously, running like an un-spry 80 year old. I want to give slurpy kisses to Zoe, who was in the unenviable position of keeping this from being a no-drop run. Thanks for not dropping me, Zoe. Your gentleness kept me from despair!

Atlantans ready to go to Oiselle. @runladylike and me, smiley.

Sally. Passionate about women in running.

My happy place!

Hands up, wings out?!?

We re-caffeinated with Starbucks and then went back to Oiselle to hear from Sally, the founder of Oiselle, who seems pretty intent on changing the game in women’s running. She’s brilliant. I also got to meet the object of my biggest blog crush, Sarah “Mac” Robinson, who is unlike me in that she is very, very, very fast, but like me in that she writes candidly about injury–a runner after my own heart. Also got to chat some with Dr. Lesko and Kristen Metcalf, so this little runner was a happy girl.

After that: time to Ride the Ducks. This was just… fun. A tour of Seattle and Lake Union aboard an amphibious WWII era vehicle. With a witty driver and tons to see. FUN. As our guide had us say at each and every Starbucks we passed… “Uff da!”

You have to do this when you ride the ducks. It’s like, a law.

Fishermen on a roof.

Pioneer Square.

Need a kilt? I’ve got a lead on some good ones…

Elephant=Car Wash

…and we’re in the water…

Little brown house: the one from Sleepless in Seattle

The other part of #nuunhtc trying to out-dance us. As if.

Holly goofin’ with the Cap’n

The good stuff: Gifties!

Post-duck, we went to Nuun HQ and ate dinner and were presented with a massive amount of fun swag to wear, try, and love. It was like a visit from Nuunta Claus. Nuun bottles, hats, visors. Shirts and jackets from Oiselle. Sunscreen from Naawk, socks from Swiftwick, skirts from Sparkle Athletic, and a Tiger Tail. President and CEO Mason innovative approach to marketing and their commitment to bring athletes together. Yay Nuun! *cheerleader jump*

The next morning, I got up to tell the other Watermelons goodbye. Only Van 1s go to the top of Mount Hood, which grieves me greatly. I get it, that would be literally twice the amount of traffic up the mountain, but this little Runner #11 surely did miss the team time at the start line. But, I waved goodbye as they loaded up and started on their adventure.

Bye… Sniff….

Then I had three hours to kill, so I got a shuttle from the hotel and went back to Pike Place to make things right with the original Starbucks. This time, success! Coffee there, then I explored the market as it woke up to a beautiful summer morning. After gawking at the flowers and fish, I got an espresso and a fancy-pants croissant from a French bakery across the street.

Ah. Yes. That’s more like it. The other one did seem anti-climatic.

Uff da!

So unassuming…

Feeeeeesh.

Les fleurs.

More les fleurs.

Les carbs.

Jitters, coming right up.

I was nearly done with the caffeine-shakes by the time the shuttle dropped me back to the hotel. I rushed around and got myself ready just in time to get in the van and hit the road.

It was time to get ready for Ragnar, and I was excited. My sister was on our team this year, and she, my husband and I headed into Chicago to meet up with the team. It was good to see our old team members and to meet the new ones (our team captain Marty had the unfortunate role of putting together not one, but two Ragnar teams. That is a HUGE job.)

Truer words were never scrawled across the side of a van.

Our team mascot: a tortoise on fire.

Heh. Things are not always as they appear…

Trampoline shoes and I be-bopped around that night, decorating the vans and having fun. We drove up to Madison and went to bed at a decent hour. The next morning we got up and headed to the start line. It was, as always, a good time. I had a good long wait in store that day–as Runner 12 I did not expect to start until dusk.

Both teams had the same start time so we sent our runners off and our van, Van 2, headed out to Exchange 6. Where we waited… and waited… and waited. I got to meet Megan from Nuun, who has been organizing all our Hood to Coast shenanigans. We got feedback from Van 1, who were having… well, we will call them Navigational Issues. Finally we were up.

Things went pretty smoothly for our first legs. Tim is our captain from last year and became our de facto captain once we started the race, since Marty was on the other team. He is big into support, and so we made sure to see each runner at least once, and we all walked to every exchange to welcome our runner in and send the next out. Trampolines Shoes were excited to make each of those treks with me. Kiss, kiss, trampoline shoes.

My first leg was 6.7 miles, and I can’t let the story of the shoes interfere with me telling you about how utterly bizarre this run was. It is on a trail through with Wisconsin, which was once a rail line but is not a well-maintained recreational trail. Woodlands surround it, but you are often within sight of or even right next to a road. Trampoline shoes and I set off on the leg. It was flat, the sun was setting, and the weather was perfect.

Within the first 1/2 mile, I saw a man on a bike, who we had seen earlier on the course, and who clearly knew what Ragnar was and what we were doing. And yet, on a bike, he should have been far ahead of us at this point. It made me slightly uncomfortable to see him out there still, but I knew there were enough runners coming behind me that he was probably no threat. Around this time, I passed a still pond and happened to notice, among the vegetation, a dead bird floating in it. Ew.

Things would get creepier still. But first, I got passed by a couple of fast dudes, and I hated to be the roadkill, but I was having a good run so I didn’t really care. Nothing I could do about it. Then the bugs attacked. These tiny little gnat/fly/moth things were every where! And drawn to my headlamp, even though the sun had just set and it was still quite light. They swarmed my face and I had a few as an unintentional snack. I put my head down and ran on, wondering if this would last the rest of the leg (it didn’t).

As I came up on a road crossing at mile 3.5 my van was waiting for me. I saw some people and heard my sister yell, “Is that a mermaid I see?” I laughed and yelled back, feeling good and happy.

Mile 4, there was a water stop manned by cheerful volunteers, and then I came to a more wooded area of the trail. That was when I saw a figure headed toward me. A Male. Who was shuffling–no, limping! I turned off my music and pulled my pepper spray off my waistband. And as I got closer, I could see, he was wearing a hoodie, jeans, and a backpack. This was no recreational walker or Ragnar spectator. And while he had every right to be walking this trail, the guy looked… out of place. I passed by him and picked up the pace. As I did so, I also called my husband and put him on speaker. “Hey, I just saw a creepy guy on the trail; I’m fine but wanted someone on the phone just in case. Just stay on the line with me.” I looked back and did not see the man, but did see what appeared to be a male Ragnarian with a headlamp coming up behind me. I got off the phone with my husband and asked the runner, “Is that guy still going the other way?” He said “Yeah I think so,” and went on. I’m sure as a male, he probably didn’t think twice about seeing that guy on the trail, but I’m pretty protective of my person, so I’m glad I had my phone and my pepper spray and my wits about me. (side note: my other plan during a Ragnar, should something happen, is to turn around and run BACK on the course, because there will always be runners behind you, but you may not be able to catch anyone in front of you, and going forward only puts you further away from safe people. Learned this from Caroline.)

Okay, so are you ready for the next part? About a quarter mile later, I saw something else. From a distance, I could tell only that it was dark and inanimate. As I got closer, I saw, on this tree-lined, beautiful recreational trail that so deftly showcases Wisconsin’s early-summer beauty… a black rolling office chair. With an old computer monitor sitting atop it. And it occurred to me: I am not running a Ragnar. I’m being Punk’d. I’m starring in a David Lynch movie.Something. Because it was all too bizarre. I would’ve stopped to take a picture, but I really just wanted to be back around people at that point.

It was newly dark by the time I got to Exchange 12, and the place was ablaze in headlamps and headlights. I got passed by with about 200 meters to go by two guys who were just flying, and I could not catch them. But I picked up the pace and finished strong, and felt good. I’d just ran my first leg at goal pace and hey, Hoodie Guy hadn’t killed me, so really, what was there to complain about?

I won’t go into all the details of the race from the standpoint of a recap, but there were typical overnight shenanigans: navigating, eating, trying to sleep. Also, a sudden craving for pickles and french fries (which I think calls for a new game: Pregnant, or Ragnarian?), waiting at McDonald’s for coffee at 3AM (new, new game: Out Carouing, or Ragnarian?), and so forth. But overnight, Trampoline Shoes dealt me a blow. Somewhere in that first leg, they’d decided to break up with me. And they wanted to hurt me doing it. As the night wore on, I could feel my right leg get tighter and tighter. “That’s weird,” I thought. I stretched out my leg in the van, tried to get it to loosen up. No dice. It got worse. It felt even worse-worse when I tried to bend it. I had already planned to wear my ASICS for leg 2, and I put them on. I also taped my leg with KT Tape for IT Band, just because it was tight in that area.

The sunrise was prettier than what was to come…

Ah, I was so excited about my second leg. It started on the north side of Racine, Wisconsin, and I was to run along Lake Michigan and into Exchange 24. It was just past sunrise and beside Lake Michigan in a summer sunrise is just one of the prettiest places you can be. I got out at Exchange 23 and got ready to run. My leg was tight. It hurt. Tim remarked that I looked mad (I always look mad if I’m not smiling). I told him I wasn’t mad, but I was worried.

David came into the exchange and I took off. My right leg immediately started barking angrily at me. By .35 miles I had sharp, shooting pain down my right leg. I ran some, walked some, and tried to process what was happening.

Now, I am not fast. Never have been. But I have always, always, been able to go, for forever. I don’t peter out often, and if I do, I can generally take a short break and just keep going. I’m also not a wimp. I’ve delivered two babies–one with a 28 hour labor and one with 7 hours, with no drugs. This leg was 4.7 miles and I could. not. run. it. So when I tell you I was shocked, truly, I was in shock. It came out of nowhere, and in a matter of 8 hours I’d gone from being at one of my strongest, fastest points, to reduced to hobbling.

I made it to .7 miles and I pulled out my phone to call my husband. Before he could even answer, the van happened to turn the corner and pass me. They hit the brakes and tumbled out of the van. “WHAT IS WRONG?” they said, with a mixture of concern and surprise. I looked at them and said, “I can’t run. I can’t run.” “Get in,” they said. And then they mobilized. My husband popped out of the van and said he’d take the next 2 miles. Off he went. My sister took the last two. I got in the van and tried to shove my anger down inside of me, as it would do not good now.

After my heroes finished up the leg, we had time off for food. We went to a breakfast joint in Kenosha, and while we waited on a table, I foam rolled in an empty lot next door. I still wanted to try to run my next leg. Since I was out of commission, I drove the van, too. We came up with a plan for me to try and take Tim’s shorter 6-mile leg and for him to take leg 36, which is 8 miles.

Foam rolling & waiting for breakfast.

We got to exchange 30 and I went to medical for ice. I foam rolled some more. I tried to stretch. I already suspected that Trampoline Shoes were breaking up with me. Like, over text. So cruel, but I kept them on because the ASICS had been even more painful. I made it a mile into my third leg. It didn’t hurt until the mile mark, but it did hurt, and was getting worse. The van was waiting for me, and David was outside. I gave him the thumbs down, and he came over to take yet another set of miles for me. My sister traded off with him halfway through, and so we finished up my doomed set of Ragnar legs. We headed to the finish line, and I took my medal, even though it is still very hard for me to look at it–I don’t feel like I ran a Ragnar.

Iced and taped at Exchange 30. Trampoline shoes mocking me.

Faking happiness at the Finish Line. Really angry on the inside. (that’s race director Meredith Dalberg in the front–she did an amazing job with the race!)

I haven’t run in Trampoline Shoes since. They seem unfazed by our sudden and tragic breakup, and by the pain they have caused me. Best I can tell, they caused me to rely on my ITBand more than I was ready for. And I’m still paying the price. It is extraordinarily frustrating. I wonder if I’d broken them in more slowly, would it have been better? Or would it have accumulated anyway? I also wonder, since I’m no longer running in those shoes, and have bettered my form, why does it still bother me? I know the MO of the ITBand is: once inflamed, it will stay inflamed for quite some time. While I no longer have active or acute pain, and I can run, I just know it’s not 100% better, either (it gets achy after I run).

So, here’s what I’ve done so far this summer, in no particular order: Cross training with the bike and rowing machine. Active Release Therapy and Fascial Distortion. Chiropractic. Rest. Massage. Form work. Ice. Compression. Some running.

Here’s the plan for now:

1. Do the PT exercises I have found everyday, not to ‘strengthen’ the IT Band, but to strengthen all the other muscles I need to be using in order to not rely on the IT Band.

2. Core work every day.

3. Foam rolling twice a day.

4. Upper body weights three times a week.

5. Swimming 4-5x a week starting next week when I can get back in the pool (I had an ingrown toenail removed last week so I’m forbidden to swim until next week. Yes, this is also a source of frustration.)

6. Sleeping in my compression pants.

7. Icing 3-4 times a day. I am taking another complete rest from running, biking, and rowing for at least two more weeks.

8. Staying far, far away from inflammatory foods. I already avoid wheat and dairy and most processed foods. But I have a sweet tooth and intend to limit, if not cut out, sugar entirely.

The plan above allows me to strengthen what is weak so I can rely much less on the ITBand when I do run, while still maintaining my cardio fitness level. My plan is to be able to complete my miles at Hood to Coast without worry. I think the plan above will allow me to do that. I modified my pace goal online so that I don’t have to worry about pushing the pace at the race. And even if painful, I will push through. Afterward, I am prepared to take another complete rest from running if necessary. I’m not going to push through any sort of training right now, though, and risk Hood to Coast. I’m going to show up happy, healthy(er), and, while possibly somewhat undertrained, ready to do my part to run the race and share the Nuun love.

As for Trampoline Shoes? They are in my closet, buried beneath a pile of other shoes that have not caused me nearly so much grief and pain. But I confess, I sometimes catch a glimpse of them, laying there benignly, looking so pretty with their wings on, and I think, “What if?” Deep down, I still love them. I still miss what we had together: speed. lightness. happiness. They were cruel in the end, but for a time, they were…perfection.

2. I adore an organized race, and I’m not sure I’ve been to one that was more organized. A+++, Soldier Field 10-miler.

3. I don’t know how you Chicago people run on concrete all the time. By mile three I was like:

And they still are! Your running surfaces may be flat, but man they beat up my legs. Last year I got shin splints after being here for two weeks and running a lot. Imma have to find some trails to run.

Back to the race:

My sister, brother-in-law and I went into the city Friday afternoon. We hit packet pickup at Fleet Feet. This was a pain to get to, and not worth the trip–will have packet mailed if we do this race again.

We ate an early dinner at the Lincoln Park Whole Foods. I know, I know, we’re in an awesome food city and ate at WF. But! This store has awesome smoked meats and tons of vegetables, so it’s a very safe pre-race choice, as opposed to eating, say, Chicago-style pizza or a hot dog. I had smoked chicken and a baked potato with broccoli. Delicious. We also got our breakfast goodies. Oh, and some fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies because I like to have a simple dessert before a race. It’s the little things, right?

Baked Potato. With Broccoli. And BACON.

Made a quick trip to Niketown.

We went back to the hotel and got to bed about 8:30 and got up at 4:30. If this isn’t your race-day alarm ring tone, well, I don’t know what’s wrong with you:

I got dressed and went down to check the weather. It was pretty perfect–about 48 degrees or so. I grabbed coffee for my BIL and me and headed back up. We finished getting ready (breakfast: Cherry Limeade Nuun, miniature whole wheat bagel, and honey roasted peanut butter) and headed to the race at 5:40. We wanted to be in the garage at Soldier Field by 6 AM because I figured there’d be a rush about then. Parking was organized, and there were portapotties in the parking garage. Genius. In fact, everything was so organized that we had some time to kill. Goofy pictures in front of Soldier Field? Check. Another portapotty trip? Check. Try to find friends who apparently hadn’t arrived yet, eat a banana, shiver in the cold? Check, check, check.

Goofiness.

Finally it was nearing 6:45 and time for me to be in my corral. I said goodbye to Lesley and Clay and got in place. There was a really lovely pre-race ceremony that included a lot of thankfulness for the soldiers that have sacrificed everything for our country, and a beautiful rendition of Taps. I hadn’t made the Memorial Day weekend/Soldier Field connection before then–duh, Lindsay. I’m sure what was happening on stage was very touching; it was touching even where I was, where I could only hear what was going on.

Soon enough the race had started and we were moving toward the start. I was in corral 7 and we crossed the start around 7:20. They do a really nice job of keeping the runners spaced. There’s plenty of room on the south-bound part of the course, but coming back north, on the trail, there’s not as much room, but it was never crowded.

In the first mile, it was still hard to maneuver, and there is a good long portion where you are running underneath McCormick Place. Here, it is dark and you really need to concentrate on not losing your footing because the road is not perfect. I lost satellite reception, but knew my clock was still running, so I didn’t stress out. But if you run this in the future–update your software. My sister has an older Garmin and she never updates the software, and even her clock didn’t work under there–her actual chip time was a full 4 minutes slower than her Garmin time because her Garmin basically shut off in the tunnel.

We got out of the tunnel and I found a bunny to pace off of. We were maintaining a pretty even 8:40 pace for miles 2-4 and she stayed just ahead of me. I’d lose her and find her again, and while I knew I might not be able to maintain the pace when we headed north and into the wind, this was no an un-do-able pace, either. This was the point at which my shins started to hurt, and I spent some time being surprised at how quickly that had happened.

So, here’s the stupid-ish thing I did for this race. I didn’t even think about race nutrition until the day before, and I grabbed some Jelly Belly Sport Beans I’d gotten at the factory in Kenosha earlier this month. I’ve never used Sport Beans before. But I knew they’d at least keep my blood sugar from dipping, and they probably wouldn’t give me any GI issues I couldn’t run through. And they did just what I predicted: blood sugar stayed up, and my stomach was a mess. I have a new theory: my stomach doesn’t like things with added vitamins in them. When I trained for Myrtle Beach, with the Trader Joe’s stroopwaffels, which are literally just little cookies, I was fine. But when you start throwing gels, shots, blocks, beans in there that have vitamins, my stomach rebels. My stomach doesn’t like regular vitamins that I take without food, and it sure doesn’t seem to like them when I’m running. But again, nothing I couldn’t run through, so onward we went.

I found my pacer bunny at the aid station near mile 7. She had 2 cups of water in her hand, and some Gatorade. I never saw her again, so I’m not sure if she petered out or what. It was definitely harder running into the wind in the second half, but not terrible. And there was the skyline to look at. Just after that, there was the only real hill on the course, and so the Alexi Pappas in my head said “You know this hill!” and I attacked it.

At mile 8.5 I was in the mood to be done, so I started picking people to take down. Matchy-matchy Lululemon outfit? You’re gone! Fishtail braid girl? Goodbye! Other fishtail-braid girl? Later! I finally came on a young woman with a ponytail, and passed her. Then she passed me. Then we finally ran side-by-side as we came into the final stretch beside Soldier Field. We went through the tunnel and when we came out on the field, I waved her on, and we both sped up and crossed the line. I also totally forgot to look for myself on the Jumbotron. Oh, well.

I got my medal, my food, and found Clay. He had my bag with a change of clothes so I got warm(er) and we waited for Lesley to come in. We used the Find My Friends app on our phones to track Lesley–this is a great tool if you are tracking someone at a race. We made a lot of noise for her when she came in, and then collected her, too.

Getting our medals.

Clockwise from left: Medal, the field, Lesley and me, the finish.

Afterward, I got to see Jenny and Chrisy, who are the ones who hooked me up with my Ragnar Chicago team last year, and we also went to a little after-party with our actual teammates.

With Chrisy and Jenny.

Not a Chicago dog, but really delicious after a race.

Can’t say enough good things about this race. Very organized, and lots of fun. I also like the 10-mile distance a lot. For the record, my A goal, back when I was hopeful for a flawless training schedule, was 1:25, my B goal was 1:30 and my “Hey, my foot hurts” C Goal was 1:35. My official time was 1:29:47, so I’m fine with that. It was a solid training run for Ragnar Chicago, my foot didn’t hurt (!!!!!), and it was a good reminder that I need to baby my shins while I’m here.

Okay, now that we have that out of the way, let me start by saying that the Brunch Run was everything I wanted it to be. It was so low-key, but well-organized. It felt like a small-town race (450 runners), but in the middle of the big-name greenspace (Piedmont Park) in a major metropolitan area (Atlanta, of course). The start line was scrawled on the pavement and the course volunteers were (among others) the race directors themselves. At the end, most everyone stayed and lounged on the grass, enjoying coffee (in our new race mugs!) and breakfast, and even moving en masse to participate in the awards ceremony and raffle. That doesn’t happen at the races I’m used to in Atlanta. It was really the perfect start to a spring morning. I definitely want to be back for it next year.

So, the recap.

My sister’s registration to the race was my gift to her for her 40th birthday. She and my BIL were running, and Katie agreed to pace me to a PR. That left my husband watching the kids–not a big deal since we were in a park and they were pretty happy just running around. We met up with Melissa from My Peach Life, who warmed up with us and hung out with us afterward.

My sister and me before the race–she actually cut her 5k time by a full five minutes since November, through training and a major diet overhaul. Not a bad way to start a birthday!

Melissa and me trying to figure out which camera to smile for. So much paparazzi when you are a blogger! 😉

There. Got the right one this time.

Katie and I headed to the start line, and an a capella group from Emory sang the National Anthem. It was one of the most beautiful renditions I’ve heard–I don’t normally get emotional at the National Anthem but I actually got a tiny bit verklempt. Didn’t last long, though, because we were off.

Oh, were we off. The plan was 8:22, 8:15, 8:10 for our miles, with a push at the end. But we also talked about being a little more aggressive. Well, I was all excited like a new little runner bunny and I went out waaaay too fast. I will say, I felt great the first mile. Stupid, stupid. Never run faster when you’re feeling great. Never run that much faster than The Plan.

I realized this at 1.5 miles when, as predicted, I wanted to die. Everything in me felt tense. I was pretty sure by this point that my goal (25:xx) had slipped away. My hip flexors were very tight, but I was expending a lot of mental energy telling my shoulders to come down from ear-level, and I even felt tension, more than the usual amount of tension, in my core. My legs just felt slow and sad. Katie named a couple of people to pick off in front of us, and so we did. Finally as we came into the last mile she picked one more woman for us to pick off, but I just couldn’t do it. Katie told me to dig, but I didn’t have the energy to tell her I felt like I already was. By the time the last song on my playlist came on, I was getting the tunnel vision that I get when my blood sugar is low. I could tell we would even be tight to make it for a PR (sub 26:59). The last .25 was uphill but I managed to push it for the last .1.

Official time was 26:32, which is a PR by 27 seconds. As many have said, “It is always good when you can run faster than you have ever run before.” That is true, and I’m trying to remind myself of that.

Here’s the thing: I could blame not making my original A goal (sub 25), and my revised B goal (sub 26) on a lot of things: it was hot, I didn’t stretch out my hip flexors, I needed sugar, blah blah blah.

But the truth is, I got the PR that I trained for. I haven’t been training like I should. I took a lot of time off real training after the marathon. I couldn’t decide if this 5k, the Soldier Field 10-miler, or Ragnar Chicago was my goal race, so I just didn’t really train hard for any of them. My mileage has been low. I haven’t been to the track since March. I did do speed work but it was on the treadmill and was a bit haphazard.

I’m glad for the PR but I’m more thankful for the good kick in the pants for my training. The Summer of Speed is here. If you need me, you can find me at the track.

Katie and Me coming in to the finish. So thankful for her, and for my kids cheering us on, in the foreground.

coffee, breakfast burrito, my foot.

GIVE US ALL THE COFFEE AND BREAKFAST FOODSTUFFS

I never see big groups hang out for awards like this. Such a cool event.

Did you know I do more than run? I love to cook so here’s a pic of what I made my sister for dinner that night: filet with herb butter, roasted asparagus, watermelon-tomato salad with chili vinaigrette, and berries, goat cheese, and balsamic on field greens. Happy birthday to my sister!

Note from Lindsay: Yesterday I wrote about my experience spectating, cheering, and pacing my friend Katie’s attempt at a Boston Qualifying time at the Wisconsin Marathon. These are Katie’s thoughts, 48 hours after a disappointing (for her) finish at the race. Anyone who has hit the wall, or who dreads hitting the wall, will find something here that may help you in the future. In her words:

Katie and me before Rock n Roll USA 2012.

In the past 14 months, I have run 3 marathons, (3:57, 3;43, 3:53). In each race, I experienced the same dreaded end-of-race fade. Of course, it was the wall. Everyone talks about the wall. There are so many reasons for hitting the wall: nutritional, physical, mental. But in all my reading and researching and geeking out with other runners, I never bothered to ponder and never bothered to ask the question: “What happens after you hit the wall?” I am not exactly sure where to go from here: could it be that I need to look at a very different pacing strategy? Do I need to look at alternate strategies for fueling? Or does it mean that I am just not capable of a Boston Qualifying performance? Will I forever be wishing that a marathon ended at mile 23?

This past Saturday, I kept such a close eye on running even, easy splits, staying calm, hydrating regularly, fueling early. My dear friends Lindsay and Kristiana even drove the ENTIRE course the day before this race so that I would have an idea of what to expect: hills, road conditions, gravel road portions, stretches of the course which appeared a little more remote and would likely have very little crowd support.

I have to wonder how much of this fade at the end is mental: when I had one mile that was off pace by 15 seconds, I didn’t give up. I can vividly recall wanting to just lie down on the side of the road in the final miles 7 or 8 of the Myrtle Beach marathon in February. My body just felt exhausted, and my feet just hurt.

This time, my feet didn’t hurt, and I certainly didn’t want to lie down. I had one mile where my pace slipped by 15 seconds. I had enough cognitive ability to know that even if I could hold that pace until the end, that I would still have a qualifying time. Easy math: 15 seconds x 5 miles is only a just over a minute slower than I wanted. My mind was sharp and I just hit the gas a little bit more.

But then I turned into the wind, going uphill. And because we had driven the course the day before, I knew very well that I would keep running this direction until just before the finish. The wind wasn’t going to end. I didn’t remember the hill. And when I turned around, it looked like the road I had just climbed up was also going uphill. How could that be? I kept giving myself surges to push faster. I have trained for this.

The mental strength that I gained from the 9 x 1 mile at 30 seconds faster than marathon pace workouts? This is when I needed it. I thought about those workouts. I thought about the 25 miler that ended with a fast finish which I accidentally routed UP a massive Atlanta hill, but still maintained an 8:10 pace. I needed that right now. And then, something just broke inside me. And my legs stopped going as fast as they were. And the pushing that I was doing to keep the pace that was going to get me in a 1:15 slower overall? That effort level was giving me a per mile pace that was 30 seconds off my goal pace, and then 50 seconds off my goal pace. And then I started throwing up.

My friend Lindsay jumped in at mile 23, and I started to vomit more. This was not puke-your-guts-out after a hard track effort vomit; it was a foamy, energy gel spit up.

This happened to me once in Myrtle Beach. I had a bit of vomit in my mouth. But then it didn’t happen again.

But now it kept happening. I slowed down to walk, and each time I started up again, I would throw up some more. I started to feel woozy and dizzy. Later, Lindsay later told me that I was weaving instead of running in a straight path. When Lindsay talked to me, I had trouble answering her, but it wasn’t because I was going so fast. I was able to talk to people a little earlier in the race, at miles 14, 15, and 16, when I was racing at the right pace.

I took some Gatorade from an aid station (I thought that maybe I needed some more electrolytes) at some point during after mile 23, and it came right back up a few minutes later.

At some point I thought: “what if I really hurt myself trying to do this?”. And instead of vomiting and running the whole thing in, I just slowed to a walking pace for the last mile, and ran in the last 0.2.

It is hard for me to not feel really disappointed right now, especially because I just felt so strong and ready. I didn’t hit the wall so tragically during training in the 23 and 25 milers. I felt a little exhausted towards the end of those, but I was able to push through that and really finish strong. But during all those training runs, I had to take breaks for stoplights, and to refill my water bottles. I wonder if these little breaks in running allowed me recover just enough to not have a big bonk at the end.

My husband asked me how I was feeling, and I told him I felt devastated and ashamed. He told me that I had every right to feel sad, maybe even devastated, but not for long. And I had no right to feel ashamed.

It is easy to get caught up in the concept that if you put in the work, you will always get results. But, that is not always the case. That is why you show up on race day and race, instead of just being handed a medal. And the marathon is, in its simplest form, a beast that is not easy to tame. Every time you toe the line at a marathon, the possibility of failure looms large. No one is guaranteed a great day of racing, fueling, hydrating, pacing, staying mentally focused. It is a challenge.

No, I am not ashamed. I did take a risk. My day was not Saturday. While I was at the medical tent being checked over (I am sincerely thankful for having such loving friends at the finish line to propel my stumbling self over to medical) I looked Kristiana and Lindsay in the eye and said my typical refrain about 10 minutes after finishing a marathon: “I am never, ever (!!) doing one of these again!”.

But the lure of qualifying for Boston is there for me. It’s a goal that I have talked about in front my children, my friends, my parents. I can’t just walk away after a measly two tries. What sort of example does that set to them? How does that affect my own self esteem?

It may be another year or more, but I will come back to this goal. I’ll spend some time laying down an even stronger base of fitness before I begin another marathon training cycle. I also need to spend time building up all the other things that began to be neglected. My family needs me to step out of the season of marathon training and come back to a more attentive, present state in our home. There is, after all, a race we are all running that needs a lot more endurance than the one I ran on Saturday.

Cooper River Bridge Run has become one of my favorite races, and I can’t say enough good things about it. This is the second year my sister Lesley and I traveled to Charleston to celebrate our “Sister Day”–a totally awesome excuse to be together and run some. We left Friday, later than I would’ve liked, but with plenty of time to get to the expo, grab dinner, and get some rest.

Hydration carnage on the way to Charleston.

The race is the 3rd largest 10k in the country, and is logistically complicated–35,000 runners going point to point over a huge bridge. They made some major changes this year to avoid a similar scenario to last year’s debacle that included the race going off an hour late. (note: i still enjoyed myself thoroughly last year, despite the delay). This year they changed the expo to a roomier convention center in North Charleston, which was nice–it felt a little less frenetic, and was easier to navigate. The other big change was that they had three locations in different parts of the area for shuttle departure to the race, as opposed to one, in downtown Charleston, as they had done prior.

The shuttle changes didn’t really affect us, since we stay downtown, right at the finish line, and take the ferry across the Cooper River. I love it; such a nice way to start a race day. No real line to stand in, there’s coffee on the boat, and if you time it right, you can see the sun rise, silhouetting the bridge. You still have to hop a bus to the start line, but it’s all just people who got off the boat with you, so no big deal.

Boat. And moon.

Sunrise over THE BRIDGE. Gulp.

We did get to the boat earlier this year, which made the start experience a lot less rushed. We were dropped off the bus the end of all corrals, at about 7:20, which gave us plenty of time to walk allllll the way to corral A to use the portapotty. We were in corrals C&D, but this area has the least crowded portapotty area, but don’t go telling everybody and crowding it up for me next year, ok?

Look who was on our boat and bus! Ready to ROCK the race!

YOU GUYS. GUESS WHO WAS THREE PEOPLE IN FRONT OF ME IN THE LINE FOR THE PORTAPOTTY. Remember the World’s Most Photogenic Guy? This one? Zeddie Little? I saw him and thought it was him, but without the smile, wasn’t sure it was the same guy. My sister said no, but I had hop over to him and ask his name. He told me “Winston,” so I told him I thought he was someone else, but he wasn’t. He kind of mumbled “I have another first name.” I cocked my eyebrow at him and he told me. He was super nice, we talked about the picture, and he took a picture with me. Fun!

So sad, I put the World’s Most Photogenic Man in bad light. Sorry, Zeddie/Winston.

So, with our bathroom-ing and Zeddie Little-sighting complete, we headed back to the corrals. I got in right as they were starting the elites off (at EXACTLY 8AM–they were clearly not going to mess this up this year), and with very little fanfare or lag time, I was running.

I hadn’t really set a goal for this race, as my 10k PR was set just a few weeks ago, and on a downhill course with nothing like the monster that is the Arthur J. Ravenel bridge. I figured I’d give it my all, shoot for 8:30-ish miles and treat it as a tempo training run in anticipation of the miles I’ll run with Katie in Wisconsin. I started my Garmin as we went over the mats, I KNOW I DID but at .5 in it beeped as it started to go into Power Save mode.

Nooooooooooooooo!

I started to get mad, but then decided I’d just reset and start my watch again when I heard everyone else’s watches chirp near the Mile 1 marker. Which is what I did. But having no real gauge for how that first mile went, I knew the PR thing might not happen, unless I wanted to REALLY push the pace to be on the safe side of a PR. With a huge course PR certain (last year I finished CRBR in 1:00:13), and with it being Sister Day and me wanting to enjoy my time with Lesley, I pretty much knew I wasn’t going to push. I wanted to do well on the race, but sometimes, there are just other things going on. I could be happy with a fat course PR, and with the Garmin fail, I decided just to lay it out and let the (timing ) chips fall where they may. Heh. Get it?

Before I knew it we were moving up the bridge! I had forgotten how huge it is. And how very crowded it is, and hard it is to navigate the folks who walk on the uphill. But I hadn’t forgotten how hard it had been last year to make it up the thing. This year, I felt… strong. Last year it took me a little over 10 minutes to get up to the top, this year, it took me under 9. I love it when speed training pays off–it makes me want to do even more!

I had also forgotten what a lovely, long descent you get on the bridge. If you haven’t shredded everything up it, it’s great to go down. The slope is short and big going up, and long and little going down. It can definitely be used to your advantage.

When we hit the bottom of the bridge, back in Charleston, was when I felt it in my legs. Like they were leaden. I honestly wanted to walk–I felt that sloggy–but pushed through. They really lay on the water stops in the second half of the race, and I was thankful for the distraction. We made our way toward the historic area, and the finish. Here is where the cheers pick up, and it’s so beautiful. I wanted something there for the last two turns before the finish, and when I made the next to the last turn I kicked it in. I made it across the finish and didn’t feel like puking–hurrah! My Garmin read 44:53 for 5.23 miles. I knew I’d only have a PR if I’d killed the first mile, which I didn’t think I had. And I was right–my official time was 53:38, exactly one minute off my existing PR.

Splits:

Mile 1 8:45, by my calculations.

Mile 2 8:50

Mile 3 (the bridge) 8:54

Mile 4 8:14

Mile 5 8:36

Mile 6 (.2 miles) 8:09

Average pace: 8:38

4166 of 31467 runners

1138 of 18493 females

Do I wish I’d run those first 2 miles faster? Of course! But I don’t know that I could’ve powered up the bridge if I had. I honestly have no real regrets about the race. I finished with a course PR of 7:30+–that’s a huge difference year-to-year. I felt strong, and I feel ready to run with Katie in Wisconsin, and I feel ready to work toward more PR’s. With some more speedwork, I can practically taste my sub-25 5k goal.

Post-race, I got some water and a banana, and went over to the edge of the park where you can cheer the runners on as they hit mile 6. I scanned and scanned for Lesley until I found her, then jumped in and ran with her till the finish line was in sight. She always looks like she’s about to kill somebody when she’s at the end of the race, so I chirped some happy things at her and hoped her victim would not be me. Yikes! (In truth, she has said she loves it when I run her in, so I’m kidding there.) She had a huge PR herself, about 7:00 or so, too.

We hustled back to our hotel for some breakfast, but not before I met up with another Ragnar ambassador who had come in from Tennessee. I’d helped him out in getting his packet as he was late getting to Charleston, and so it was nice to put a face to the random number I’d been texting with on Friday. 🙂

Reppin’ the Ragnar.

Post-race breakfast to satisfy my #bacontooth.

After showering and stretching, we walked to Husk for lunch–do eat there when you are in Charleston. Though they claim their schtick is Southern, I will tell you, as someone who grew up in Kentucky and has lived deep in Appalachia, that their schtick is actually Refined Hillbilly. AND I LOVE IT. Our dishes included bacon, pork belly marmalade, more bacon, and pork. WINNING.

EAT ALL THE PIG. (and shrimp, and grits.)

We also visited Fort Sumter (this felt familiar as our father is a historian and we spent our youth visiting landmarks and tombstones) and ate at an AWESOME cafe called Five Loaves. I recommend that, too.

So cold and windy on the boat to Ft. Sumter.

Leaning on a leaning wall at Ft. Sumter.

We were beat on Saturday night and in bed early. Happily. It was a great race, a great weekend, and a great Sister Day.

When you run outside, you become very interested in the weather. It dictates what you wear. It demands you move your run or put off your run until the rain lets up or the lightning moves out of the area. Sometimes, the weather is powerful enough to throw out your training plan, your money invested in a race-centered trip, and your race goal itself.

Yesterday was that day.

I had suggested the Berry Half Marathon to my husband way back in late 2012. I ran it in 2011 and it was great. He was coming off Ragnar Tennessee and looking for something to carry that momentum through to our next Ragnar in June. Berry fits a lot of our criteria: Saturday race, not too expensive, and close-ish to where we live. It also happens to be held on the campus where we both went to college, where we met, and where we got married. In fact, the race benefits the campus elementary school where his groomsman teaches, and where the kids of my bridesmaid attend. Easy choice.

David trained hard for this race. He’s had a rough couple of halves and wanted a good race, especially on his old turf. Along the way, we recruited most of our Ragnar team, and a couple of friends, to come and have a mini-reunion for the race.

We all had our goals. David was on track to set a massive PR (In my opinion, he had the potential to break it by 20 minutes). Katie was using it as a race-day practice and long tempo run as she prepares to qualify for Boston. Her husband Jason could’ve been looking at an age group award. Aron was returning to the half-marathon after a decade off. Sara wants a redemption race after a disappointing first half in the fall. Jan and Cris were running the 10k, just because they cared enough about being with us to fork over money for a race and drive all the way to Berry to hang out.

As for me, I wasn’t actually running the race, but instead watching our children and Katie and Jason’s kids while everyone else ran. I was looking forward to a lot of things. I wanted our Ragnar team at least partially together for a post-race lunch. And I was so excited to give Katie and Jason a chance to run the same race, And since David is unfailingly supportive of me running and racing and traveling to race, I wanted to give him the chance to run one. I also had hoped that when Jason finished I’d be able to find a friend/teammate to keep an eye on our kids, and to run David in to the finish line.

Our kids were excited, too. On Thursday, they made signs to cheer on the runners and we read to them the history of Martha Berry and the school. On Friday, I took Katie and all the kids on a tour of Berry/course tour and showed them the school landmarks, and the landmarks of David’s and my relationship. The kids (ages 4-7) collected cowbells and snacks at the race expo, excited to put them to good use to cheer on their family, friends, and other runners at the race.

But none of it happened. NONE of it. A line of storms moved through the Rome, GA area early Saturday morning. We awoke to thunder and lightning. Before we left the hotel the race was delayed from 8AM to 9AM. It was raining hard. It wasn’t letting up. The runners went on and Aron’s wife and I wrangled kids into the car and to campus. We walked a long way to the race staging area at the Ford buildings, and along the way heard some kiddie whining and complaining about being cold, wet, and tired (all true, and probably true of the runners, too!) Along the way we got word of another delay–9:30.

The long kiddie walk in the rain.

Waiting… Waiting…

Vine video of the gym:

Then finally, the race director appeared and told us it was over. There would be no race. He cited safety concerns and expressed his sadness over it. The disappointment in the room was palpable. Runners dispersed quickly, and our group huddled. Sara had to leave as she needed to go to a funeral. I called Cris and Jan and they were already back at their car. But Katie, Jason, Aron and David all agreed-they wanted to run on Berry’s campus that day. I told them I was fine to watch the kids, and to go!

As the kids and I left the gym, the sky was a glorious post-storm blue, and the temperature was perfect. What a great day to run. Our group was not the only one to decide to run a bit that day. The kids got out their signs and cowbells and as we meandered back to the car they stopped for every runner and cheered for them. We even drove part of the campus looking for our group and the kids hung cowbells out the window for them. We caught Katie and Aron as we headed toward the now-deconstructed finish line and annoyed them cheered for them, too. As they headed toward the finish a race worker caught them and hung a medal around their necks.

The cheer crew that wasn’t.

Cheering anyway!

Cowbellin’ for Aron

Cowbellin’ for Katie

Choosing to run happy despite the events!

Afterward, we showered and had lunch, and dissected the morning. Here are my thoughts:

1. There are just times when the weather is a punk.

Berry is, as school literature once read “nestled in the foothills of the Appalachian mountains.” I was a reporter in Appalachia and the stories I remember most vividly are the flooding stories. Flooding in the mountains is real, and it’s dangerous. Weather Underground says Mount Berry got over an inch of rain Saturday, and it all fell by 9:30 AM. If a storm dumps a huge amount of rain in a mountain area (about 4 miles of the race are held on Berry’s “Mountain Campus”), it can do damage. Damage to roads, damage to trails, damage to poorly rooted trees, and damage to people who are insistent enough to be out in it. Weather is some powerful stuff, and it will humble you. Sometimes you just have to accept that it is more powerful than what your plans.

2. Race officials have more information than you do, and sometimes you just have to trust them.

I had the opportunity to speak with and observe the race director during the time our group was out running. He was talking to runners, he was facilitating the clean up, and he was busy. But more than once, I saw him look around at the empty area that should have been brimming with success and achievement, and saw him take in the emptiness of it. He had had to make a difficult decision.

When everyone walked out of the gym Saturday, the storm had broken. The lightning was gone. From what we could see, the threat was over, right? Well, we were on main campus, not on the mountain where there are portions of trail—dirt and rock trail. The race director said that in the time they’d waited for the lightning to pass, the storm had dumped enough rain on the course to wash out the trails.

Honestly, those trails had looked rough on Friday, before the storm. In fact, Katie and I had plotted some running strategy for them and talked about the need for caution as we drove on them. Damage from rain + thousands of pounding feet + runners focused on their race and not necessarily who else is running around them would’ve been a recipe for disaster. I pictured anything from twisted ankles, to falls, to a trampling situation.

No race director wants to cancel a race! But, this time, it had to be done.

3. Sometimes God answers prayers in ways different than the ways we might answer them.

In being with the four kids all weekend, I heard them pray more than once “Please don’t let any of the runners get hurt.” In my adult, runner-brain, that always means, “Please don’t let anyone have a heart attack at the finish line.” Because isn’t that the story we tend to hear? I actually even had a conversation with the kids, telling them that they didn’t need to worry about Mommy or Daddy getting hurt; that that’s why we train, to build up our muscles and bodies, etc. etc. etc.

I don’t know what danger the kids were envisioning, but what a timely prayer that was for this race! And it was answered. I emailed this to Katie Saturday night:

“I also thought about how much they (the kids) prayed for y’all’s safety and how… you’re safe. No one struck by lightning, crushed by a tree… No twisted ankles, no broken bones, no being trampled on by a herd of flighty runners… not even a defeated attitude from running a potentially discouraging race, or being worried about an unexpectedly technical course. Their little prayers were answered.”

I tell my kids all the time that I make my rules to keep them safe. Sometimes, I have to throw out our general rules to keep them safe in extreme situations. In this case, the race director was our parent, and made the decision to keep runners safe, even though from where we stood, there didn’t appear to be danger. I choose to respect and trust that decision.

So, going forward, what should Berry do? They don’t offer refunds, and honestly I’m fine with David’s race fee going to the schools—I know it’s a good cause, and furthers Martha Berry’s vision of well-educating students in Northwest Georgia.

I do think they need to remove the ‘rain or shine’ portion of the wording about the race if they continue to run the parts of the course on the trail. It’s an unfortunate un-truth if you have parts of the course that can be washed away.

I think the other option is to change the course. That would mean re-routing it away from the Old Mill, which is Berry’s landmark tourist attraction—it holds the title of being the most photographed place in Georgia. I’d hate to see that happen, but there are other roads on main campus that could make up a new course—including one that leads to Martha Berry’s original “Gate of Opportunity.”

Berry Half Marathon, you got handed a raw deal by the tremendous power of the weather God made. But you handled it well. You communicated with the runners, and you kept us safe. And we plan to be back. All of us. Thanks for making a potentially horrible experience one that was merely disappointing and humbling.